


Lost and Found

by selenitebones



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26234527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenitebones/pseuds/selenitebones
Summary: Brian wakes, and finds he can't remember a thing.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> This will be/is crossposted on my [Tumblr](https://cityreject.tumblr.com)!! It's part of my Bad Things Happen Bingo card/challenge, and I was super excited to start on this! Thanks to the folks in Tim's Wheelhouse server who helped me with the prompt! Love y'all :0

The gasp that tore out of his throat didn't feel natural, but almost forced. He coughed hoarsely against rough fabric, hands grasping at his face, fingers searching to remove the covering from his skin. It burned against him, as if the fabric itself was the manifestation of his sins - he wheezed in a breath, ignoring how the burn followed him down to his lungs, as if it had infested the very air he so desperately needed.

His throat was tight, but the mask was tighter, and seemed to wrap itself all the way down his neck and just above his chest, pounding his lungs and head. Absently, he wondered if this was some sort of divine retribution, yet maybe from a place less holy than divine. 

The whisper in his gut pleaded that he wouldn't fade away, that he wouldn't believe that he deserved this - but he wasn't too sure if he could believe it. In his half-lucid state, he wasn't aware of too many things, save for the desperate urge of _wrong, wrong, wrong_. Something was not how it should be, something was _off_ \- was Brian simply being punished for his crimes? Even though every fiber of his being screamed that he only hunted the one who persecuted others, some part of him insisted that this was his own fault - this was his own doing. 

The fabric tightened around his face, his windpipe. Brian felt his throat make a sickened gurgle, and his eyes fluttered shut. 

\--

The first things he saw when he awoke were two men and a camera. 

Brian's heart leapt into his throat at the bright light in his eyes, scrambled backwards to prevent further detection - even though it was quite obvious that he was much beyond avoiding being seen. He raised a hand to his face, blocking out the view of the men, hoping to defend himself from the light and whatever could come after. One of the men made a noise, and Brian dared to peek through his fingers, swallowing against the discomfort that came with arms hauling him to a sitting position. _Get off me_ , he wanted to plead. _Don't touch me_. 

"Who are you?" Was what he settled on instead, moving himself to adjust how he reclined, and driving the hands off him as he moved. The look in the men's eyes was tense, apprehensive; the camera's eye was inexpressive. Brian shifted his gaze from the lens and focused on the men in front of him instead, shrinking back at the words spoken so clearly on their faces. 

"What do you mean?" One asked, mouth just a twitch away from being contorted into a grimace. He was shorter than the other, brown hair distressed and greased. His eyes drooped, gazing at Brian with the warmth of familiarity, and Brian swallowed. There were too many things those eyes wanted to say. 

"I"m asking you who you are," he settled on, uncomfortable at how they watched him so closely. Goosebumps traveled up his skin as he nervously bit at his tongue, only pausing a hint of metal tanged against his teeth. The men looked even more unsettled, and one sat down against the wood of a chair. Brian shifted on top of the covers of a bed - he looked to be in a hotel room. 

The taller one rested his heads in his hands. "You don't remember us?" 

Brian swallowed, and fixated his gaze on the floor. "I'm sorry," he insisted, as if he was trying to convince himself of something. "I don't."

\--

The man who had been sitting down spoke. "I'm Jay. He's Tim. You don't remember anything at all?"

Brian tried to gather all and any thoughts in his head, tried to form something coherent out of the pieces. "I remember some things," he admitted. "My name. Fabric." Images flashed through his head - his head, which pulsed with the phantom pain of collision and blood. Brian didn't think that he wanted to pry any deeper in to why he knew what that felt like. "Fabric, and hands," Brian said. 

"Anything else?" Jay probed again.

He concentrated again, gritting his teeth against the dull ache in his head, trying to ignore how it got more overpowering with each breath, with each carefully-jabbed thought into his subconsciousness. His breath hitched at the red imagery on the fabric he knew of so clearly, and glanced up at Jay again. "A mask."

Tim's head turned to Jay, eyebrows raised in a thoughtful expression. Looking back at Brian, he carried on further. "Do you remember what kind?" He asked.

"Black," Brian thought back to the image - the _memory_. "Red eyes. Maybe a - _agh_ ," his hand rose to cradle his head against the sudden, sharp pain that flared through his skull, coiling behind his eyes. "It hurts to think about," he whispered against the palm of his hand, voice noticeably wavering. 

The room was quiet for a moment, and then the pain subsided back into the dull throbbing that it had been seconds before. 

"Do you remember a white mask?" Jay asked, arms crossed as he leaned over his lap.

Tremors erupted all over his body, breath hitching and eyes watering as the memory of a white mask, eyes outlined in black, filled his mind. Something hot and writhing boiled in his chest - something deep, years-old. The thought of the mask filled him with fear, with anger, with comfort and loathing - all those emotions which Brian couldn't understand were tied to the same thing. His throat was tight; his eyes were tight, but he tried to keep his voice steady and pushed the memory away from his mind.

"That one hurts even more," Brian replied, shaky. He did not keep his voice steady. 

"Do you know what even happened to you?" Jay asked him, voice gentler than it was a second ago - almost as if Brian was a fragile creature, a deer or fawn of something to protect. Brian refused to acknowledge how he was fragile - how he would break if he learned of his past. 

"I was... _choking_ ," Brian spat out, anger clouding his face, before regaining control of his emotions, and draining back into passiveness. "Then I woke up here." Phantom tingles wrapped around his throat, pressure ghosting over his skin, and he shut his eyes. Darkness that was once comforting only caused him to struggle for air, and Brian coughed out as he attempted to breathe air. He reached up with a finger to pull the collar of his shirt away from his neck - there was no need for another reminder of fabric around him.

Tim and Jay exchanged a hesitant look between each other, and then Jay spoke to Brian once more. "We might have answers for you, if you want them. We've known each other for a while. I think that we know what led up to this."

"We shouldn't tell him," Tim argued, as soon as the previous sentence came out of Jay's mouth. "He needs to heal, on his own time. Remember what happened when you told me?" Jay visibly deflated at Tim's words, withdrawing a hand that had been extended to the side. It was clear that whatever had transpired was not something wanted to be repeated again. 

Brian did not want to know what the _when_ they were referring to was. 

"Do you want to know, Brian?" Tim asked, bringing the two's attention to him again. 

Brian swallowed against the bile that threatened to rise in his throat at the mere thought of knowing more, of putting a face ( _or lack thereof_ , a voice whispered in his head, and he shuddered at the mere implication) to the reason he was like this. 

"I don't think I do," he concluded. 

\--

The leaves crunched under Brian's feet as he tread along the road, armed with a knife, a camera, and as much money as the three could scrounge up in a moment's notice. He still didn't have much - only enough for a few night's worth of food. Yet, Brian couldn't feel as if he was walking away from something bad, into a new life. 

He still wasn't sure what he did to deserve such harsh treatment, but he resolved - if there was a way he could perhaps pay back for his sins, give back to those he had wronged, then maybe - one day - he would seek the answers. Maybe he would find Tim and Jay again, one day, and maybe they could all sit around in a hotel room, have a drink, and talk about the old times.

Maybe this would be possible, even with the growing dread Brian felt pooling in his chest, and he swallowed it down, determined to ignore it as much as he could. Maybe - just maybe - Brian could heal from the memory of whatever was going on here. Maybe he wouldn't have to learn about his past at all. He could simply keep running. He didn't have to look back.

A town was becoming visible on the horizon. Brian smiled to himself, thumbed the bills in his pocket, and looked to the sky.


End file.
